Cover
by mildlyattractivegroove
Summary: Rachel and Santana have their own 80s cover band; shenanigans ensue.  Pezberry friendship. Side Faberry.
1. Chapter 1

The wedding guests applauded as the final chords of The Bangles' "Eternal Flame," rang out across the brightly-decorated reception hall, and Mike and Tina finished their first dance as a married couple.

"Thank you, everyone," Rachel said softly, stepping delicately from behind her keyboard as the applause quieted down. "Santana and I just want to say that, even though we're devastated to be losing the best drummer our band has ever had, we still wish Tina all the happiness in the world."

"You best treat our girl right, Mike Chang," Santana chimed in. Tina and Mike both blushed and smiled appreciatively as everyone applauded again. "Now let's turn things up a notch, shall we?" Santana continued to the crowd, and with that, the band began their rendition of Bowie's "Let's Dance," as the guests cheered and began singing along.

Later that night, as the girls packed their equipment into the back of Santana's rusted green van, Rachel gave a satisfied smile and said, "That was one of our best gigs ever. Don't you think so, Santana?"

"Yeah, sure," Santana shrugged. "Too bad it's our last."

"Don't say that," Rachel huffed, setting her hands on her hips. "We'll find a new drummer soon enough."

"Sure, Berry, because finding Tina was so easy in the first place. Don't you remember what that was like?" Santana asked as she tossed the last mic stand in the van and shut the doors.

Rachel did remember.

She and Santana had started the band their senior year of college as a way to blow off steam and earn a few extra dollars. Though it wasn't usually Rachel's style to give up the spotlight, she knew Santana's brand of overt, sexualized aggression was more likely to draw paying crowds at the local bars than Rachel's own Broadway bravado. And besides, the band wasn't Rachel's real dream, so she was more than happy to let Santana take the lead, while she slid comfortably into the role of mysterious sidekick with the voice of an angel.

It was a good dynamic; it worked for them. But they needed a drummer, and finding one who could weather the storm of Rachel and Santana's friendship was no easy task. The first few drummers they tried out mistook Rachel and Santana's constant bickering as an opening to divide and conquer, thus taking over control of the band. Of course, each of them had underestimated the depth of Rachel and Santana's bond and how quickly the girls could go from snapping at each other to closing ranks to protect what was theirs.

For a while they settled for letting a rotating group of guys from the music department at the university sit in with them, but more often that not, that ended in disaster as well. Typically, the guys would end up trying to get into one or both of their pants, and finding out that Rachel and Santana were both gay did little to dissuade them.

After a few months of that, the girls were close to giving up, until one night when Rachel was awakened by the sound of her phone ringing. Santana had been "crashing" on Rachel's couch for a couple of months at that point (just until she found a better place, she kept saying), and it wasn't unusual for her to call Rachel to pull her out of the various scuffles and shenanigans she routinely seemed to get into at all hours of the night.

"You've got to get down to Stix _now_," Santana said urgently.

"What happened?" Rachel asked groggily. "Did you get bounced again? I don't know why you insist on going there all the time when it's so obvious-,"

"That smug little bastard's got his own band now, Berry, and they're coming back on for a second set," Santana interrupted.

"Who?" Rachel asked. "Artie?" Rachel knew Santana had a long-standing and completely inexplicable feud with the regular dj at Stix. Sure, the guy was a bit on the pretentious side, and he seemed to enjoy getting a rise out of Santana, but Rachel never could understand why Santana didn't just ignore him.

"It's an 80s cover band," Santana said pointedly. "He won't book us for a gig, but now he's got his crappy little band up there just wailing away."

"If they're so bad, why don't you just get out of there and come home?" Rachel asked.

"He sucks, but he's got a drummer, a good one, and we're going to steal her," Santana replied. "So, get your ass down here."

Rachel reluctantly pulled herself out of bed and made her way down to Stix, arriving just as Artie's band, the ridiculously-named Suicide Notes, was about to begin its second set of the night. She found Santana in a booth near the back.

"I certainly hope this drummer is worth interrupting my REM-cycle," a beleaguered Rachel said as she slumped into the seat next to Santana. "And even if she is, I don't know how you intend to poach her from Artie's band."

"Just watch," Santana said, as the band went through their sound check. "Think he's got enough eyeliner on?" she asked, nodding toward the stage.

Rachel looked up to see Artie slouching in front of the microphone. He was dressed all in black, his hair mussed, with exaggerated eye makeup on his face. Rachel sighed. "While I appreciate the obvious homage to The Cure's Robert Smith, I suppose I would agree that his look is a bit over-the-top," she conceded.

"You need a drink; you're saying too many words," Santana replied, getting up from the booth and heading toward the bar, pulling her cash from her cleavage as she went. Rachel watched as the band—which consisted of Artie, a tough-looking guy with a mohawk, and a petite Asian girl with bright blue streaks in her hair—made their final adjustments.

"Hi, we're the Suicide Notes," Artie said flatly into the microphone. And with that, he started whining his way through their first number which was, predictably, a Cure song.

"Here," Santana said, placing some pink-colored concoction in front of Rachel and taking her seat.

"They're pretty awful!" Rachel shouted over the din.

"Yeah, but she's not!" Santana replied, gesturing toward the drummer with her beer.

Rachel did her best to drown out Artie's awful singing and focus on the beat. The girl, whoever she was, was an excellent drummer. She kept things moving, adding her own little flourishes here and there, but not over-powering the rest of the band. Rachel took a sip of her drink and felt a sudden, harsh burn as the liquid seared its way down her throat and into her stomach.

"Do I even want to know what this is?" she gasped.

"Just drink it!" Santana commanded with a wave of her hand and a shrug.

An hour or so later, when the set ended and the crowd began to clear out, Santana turned to face Rachel in the booth. "Okay, here's how we're going to play this," she said as quietly as she could, "You're going to wait here while I go talk to her, and then, if she seems cool, I'll bring her over. But don't talk too much, alright?"

"Excuse me, but are you implying that I would somehow make a poor first impression?" Rachel asked.

"You've already hit your word limit for the night, Berry. So please, just let me handle this my way, okay?" Santana growled back.

"And what way is that exactly?" Rachel sneered. Santana just shrugged, glanced down at her chest, and adjusted the top of her dress, making her cleavage even more prominent that it had been before. "You're joking, right?" Rachel asked. "You're going to get this girl to join our band by hitting on her? Santana, that's despicable! I mean, how is that any different from what the guys keep doing to us? I strongly recommend that you-,"

"Excuse me," a timid voice interrupted. Rachel and Santana turned to see the drummer standing in front of them. "You guys are the Bounty Hunters, right?" Rachel and Santana nodded. "I saw you do a show a while back over at The Blue Moon. You kicked ass," the girl smiled.

"Thank you!" Rachel said enthusiastically, "And if you don't mind my saying so, your drumming was fantastic tonight. You only lost the beat that one time, and even then, you covered it quite well. But I have to say, and I hope you won't mind my saying this, but your talents appear to be rather wasted in that dismal group you're with now, and Santana and I happen to be in need of a more permanent drummer-," Santana clamped a hand over Rachel's mouth, thus obstructing her verbal flow.

"Why don't you have a seat?" Santana asked before turning to Rachel and narrowing her eyes at her before removing her hand.

"Thanks," the girl said, "My name's Tina, by the way."


	2. Chapter 2

The morning after Tina's wedding, Santana awoke to the whir of Rachel's elliptical machine. Groping blindly for her phone, she finally found it on the floor under the couch and pulled it to her face to see the time: 6:08am. She looked over at Rachel who was gliding along with a smile on her face, mouthing the words to whatever song she was listening to on her iPod.

"Do you really have to do that right now?" Santana shouted, waving her hands in an effort to catch Rachel's attention.

"What?" Rachel asked, pulling her headphones out of her ears. Santana could hear the _Funny Girl_ soundtrack flooding out of the ear buds.

"I said, 'Do you really have to do that right now?'"

Rachel smiled, not slowing her pace for an instant. "Of course, I do. What kind of question is that? You know my six a.m. workout is an important part of my daily routine. If I postpone it, or, God forbid, skip it altogether, it would throw my entire day off course."

"Well, fine. Believe me, I don't want that," Santana said sarcastically, "but do you have to do it in here, where I'm trying to sleep?"

"Need I remind you that where you sleep also happens to be my living room?" Rachel smirked. "You need to get up anyway. We have a busy morning ahead of us."

"We do?"

"Mhmm. We'll be auditioning new drummers for the band at ten over at The Blue Moon."

"Ten o'clock in the morning?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Who the hell holds band auditions at ten in the morning?"

"I set this up ages ago, Santana, and it's the only time I could get to use the space."

"Who the hell shows up for a band audition at ten in the morning?"

"I suppose we're about to find out," Rachel said, putting her headphones back on. Santana groaned and turned over on the couch, pulling her pillow over her head.

After her workout, Rachel showered and made breakfast for them both, which Santana ate begrudgingly as she thumbed through the newspaper. Once the coffee was gone and the dishes were cleared, the two of them headed off to the bar.

The Blue Moon was a decrepit, out-of-the-way sort of place, but it was the only place that consistently gave Rachel and Santana gigs. The owner was a rather ineffectual, middle-aged man named Will Schuester. He had been in his own band a decade or so ago, a sort of New Kids on the Block group, though they had never really made it beyond the local circuit. Nevertheless, it seemed like Mr. Schuester was unable to let go of his former "pretty boy" image.

He had opened the bar, he said, as a way to help foster young talent, but more often than not, his methods proved to be vastly outdated and a bit divisive. The bands he advised either broke up or faded into obscurity within months. Rachel and Santana had survived mainly by taking advantage of the use of the bar while, for the most part, ignoring Mr. Schuester's advice.

Rachel and Santana arrived at the bar early (at Rachel's insistence), and were sitting out front when Mr. Schuester arrived to let them in. As he got out of his car, Santana gave him the once-over.

"Is that another fucking vest?" she mumbled under her breath.

"He's doing us a favor, so try to be pleasant," Rachel whispered back harshly.

"It's so nice to see you girls again!" Mr. Schuester said, reaching out to enfold them both in an embrace.

Rachel and Santana both dodged the hug, but Rachel smiled warmly and replied, "We certainly appreciate this opportunity, Mr. Schuester. I hope it's not too much trouble."

"Of course not," he chuckled, unlocking the door and letting them in. "And Rachel, I've told you before, you can call me Will."

"Actually, I'd prefer not to," Rachel said as she walked inside the dimly-lit bar. "While Santana and I appreciate all the help you've given us over the years, I think it's important to maintain a certain level of professional distance, don't you agree, Santana?" she turned, only to find that Santana was already behind the bar reaching for a bottle of beer from the cooler. "Santana!"

"It's alright," Mr. Schuester laughed good-naturedly, walking behind the bar. Santana smirked and scooted away from him quickly. "Would you like anything, Rachel?"

Rachel shook her head. Mr. Schuester shrugged. "I hope you don't mind; I made a couple of calls on your behalf last week, and I think I got a few kids interested in auditioning today. Let me just run upstairs to the office and get my notes."

"Thank you, Mr. Schuester," Rachel smiled politely. As soon as he was out of sight, she walked over to Santana and slapped her on the arm.

"What the hell, Berry?" Santana responded, using her beer to cool the spot on her arm.

"You can't just walk in here and start confiscating liquor, Santana. We're relying on Mr. Schuester's generosity-,"

Santana scoffed. "I'm so sure. What's he charging you for this?"

"Excuse me?"

"There's no way Schue's letting us use this place for auditions for free, so what's the trade?"

"I said I'd sing at his wedding next month for half price," Rachel muttered, her eyes to the floor.

"In that case," Santana said, handing the bottle off to Rachel, "I'm switching to scotch." Rachel sighed, looking down at the bottle in her hand before shrugging and taking a long sip.

"Ah, yes, I really think you're going to like this first guy," Mr. Schuester said, bounding down the stairs like a puppy, his hands full of various slips of paper. "He's a special protégé of mine; his name's Finn Hudson."

Needless to say, Finn Hudson was a disaster. He ambled in half-an-hour late, and while he was a decent enough drummer, he kept trying to sing as well, which was a serious problem given that he was clearly tone-deaf.

"We're really not looking for any additional vocals, Mr. Hudson," Rachel said as calmly and diplomatically as possible after his third attempt.

"Oh, really?" he said, with a dopey grin on his face. "Mr. Schue just mentioned that you might be interested in beefing up your sound, since up to now you've been just a chick band, or a chick-on-chick band, I should say." It was like he had no idea how offensive he was being. Rachel lunged at him, but Santana held her back.

"We'll let you know," Santana said.

The rest of the auditions that morning went equally as poorly or worse, until an imposing-looking brunette sauntered into the bar.

"These the auditions?" she asked gruffly.

"Um, yes," Rachel said, walking toward the girl with her hand extended.

The girl just looked at Rachel's hand, walked past her to the stage and said, "Sorry I'm late. Wrestling practice ran over."

Santana let out a quick laugh, scotch spewing out of her mouth; Rachel shot her a fierce glare.

Before either of them could say anything, the girl ripped into an amazing drum solo. Even Santana gaped, impressed with the girl's incomparable skill. When she finished, she stood and said, "The name's Zizes. I don't do practice before 7:00pm, and I don't do girls."

Santana raised an eyebrow. "That shouldn't be a problem," she replied.


	3. Chapter 3

"Maybe we should just give up," Rachel said, later that afternoon as she and Santana sat down to eat at a diner they frequented near The Blue Moon. The only drummer they'd seen that day that came close to what they were looking for was that Zizes girl, and both Rachel and Santana had to admit they were a little afraid of her.

"You _would_ say that," Santana shot back fiercely.

Rachel sighed, trying to think of the most diplomatic approach to what she wanted to say. "I just...I've been getting more singing gigs lately. And I've been thinking about going on some auditions in the fall, and you'll be busy with school soon."

"Whatever," Santana said, lifting her menu to shield her face from Rachel's eyes. "I know the band was never that important to you anyway."

Rachel reached up and tipped the menu downward, exposing Santana's wounded expression. Her heart sank. It had always been a sticking point between the girls, Rachel's so-called lack of commitment to the band, and Rachel felt incredibly guilty about it.

It was true, she would rather be singing show tunes on Broadway than cycling through old pop hits in whatever little dive they could manage to get a gig, but her dream had proven a bit more elusive than she'd planned. In high school, and even in college, she'd been the school star, but in the real world, she was just one of a hundred girls at any given audition, all of whom had been stars back home. The band was supposed to be just a way to pass time between auditions and earn a little extra money, but Rachel knew it had quickly become more than that, and that scared her. The happier she was singing in bars with Santana, the more she worried that her real dream was slipping away.

"I'm sorry," Rachel said, genuinely. "After we eat, I'll make some calls and try to set up another round of auditions, ok?"

"Whatever," Santana said again, picking her menu back up. After minute or two, she groaned, "Ugh. Why do you keep dragging me to this place when you know there's nothing here I like?"

Rachel opened her mouth to respond, but just then, a slender, blonde waitress emerged from the kitchen. Rachel's eyes glazed over, and she subconsciously licked her lips. She watched hungrily as the blonde gracefully balanced a variety of plates in her arms before delicately gliding through the diner, stopping at various tables along the way to deliver them. Noticing the sudden change in Rachel's expression, Santana gave a knowing look before glancing over her shoulder to confirm the entrance of the blonde.

"That's right," she said, nodding. "Something here _you_ like." Rachel's eyes remained fixated on the blonde, so Santana decided to catch Rachel's attention by sliding her foot up the length of Rachel's calf under the table.

Rachel snapped out of her thoughts, jerking her leg away from Santana and gasping, "I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"Nice try," Santana responded smugly. "You've been undressing that waitress with your eyes once a week for the better part of a year."

"Twice a week," Rachel admitted before she could stop herself.

Santana couldn't help but laugh at the confession. "Why don't you just talk to her? You know...ask her out?"

"I cannot and will not 'just talk to her,' Santana," Rachel replied sternly.

"Why the hell not?"

"I can't," Rachel reiterated weakly. "Look at her. She's a goddess, and I'm just..." she trailed off, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

"Get real. She's a second-rate waitress in a third-rate diner, Berry. That's all. Now listen, I've got to hit the ladies', but when she comes over here to take our order, you're going to talk to her, or we're never coming back here again, got it?" Santana said, getting up from her side of the booth and walking away before Rachel could argue.

Rachel watched as Santana crossed the diner toward the restroom. When she passed the blonde, Santana paused to give her a lengthy once-over, her eyes lingering on the waitress's backside for a moment longer than Rachel was comfortable with. Then she looked up and gave Rachel a wink and a thumbs-up before continuing her trek across the diner.

Rachel just rolled her eyes. She would have been embarrassed if she weren't so used to Santana's antics. She read over the menu idly, humming a little song to herself as she waited.

After a moment, she heard someone standing over her say, "Are you ready?" She let the low, breathy voice wash over her before she set down her menu and looked up at the waitress. Rachel still couldn't get over how pretty the girl was, with her wavy blonde hair, piercing hazel eyes, and porcelain skin. Suddenly, a tiny fantasy darted through her mind, something about winding her fingers through the loose curls at the base of the blonde's neck and dragging her tongue across that creamy skin. She shook her head quickly, thinking, "I've been living with Santana for too long," and shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Rachel, right? Tofu scramble with fruit salad?" the waitress smiled brightly, tilting her head to the side. Rachel nodded, her eyes running the length of the girl's exquisite neck before working their way lower. "And your friend? She always gets a cup of coffee and...a good look at my ass, I'd imagine."

Rachel blushed furiously, her eyes quickly darting back up into the other girl's lest she be caught ogling her as well. "I'd apologize for her if I thought it would make any difference," she said nervously.

"It's alright," the waitress laughed, placing a gentle, comforting hand on Rachel's shoulder for just a moment. "Happens all the time," she continued, reassuringly.

Rachel relaxed a little at that, though the thought of total strangers checking out _her_ waitress piqued her jealousy just a bit. The skin on her shoulder burned deliciously where the blonde had touched it, and she was desperate to put her own hand over the spot. But she contained herself, knotting her fingers together in an effort to keep her hands busy.

"What's her story, anyway, your friend?" the blonde continued. "Is she out on some kind of work-release program?"

Rachel smirked. "Actually, she's a kindergarten teacher."

"Is that supposed to be a joke?" the waitress laughed.

"I think so," Rachel replied with a smile. "It just happens to also be the truth."

"And what do you do?"

"I'm a singer," Rachel said, if only because she hated telling people she was an office temp.

"Oh, really? Like, in a band?" the blonde asked. Rachel nodded dumbly, overwhelmed by the blonde's sudden interest in her.

"I'd love to hear you sing sometime. You'll have to tell me when you have your next show."

"I'll be sure to do that," Rachel said, pressing her knees together as the fantasy crept back into her mind.

"Great," the girl replied. "I'll go put in your order." And then she was walking away. Rachel shut her eyes for a moment and let out a deep breath.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Santana asked, returning to her seat.

"Nothing," Rachel replied.

Santana narrowed her eyes, looking at Rachel with marked skepticism. Just then, however, her phone buzzed loudly from within her bag, indicating a new text message. She read the message, then slammed her phone down on the table, muttering, "Stupid trout mouth."

"What?" Rachel asked.

"Sam says if we don't have a drummer by next week, he's going to book Artie's band for his big Labor Day shindig."

Rachel was struck with panic. Keeping the band alive was suddenly exponentially more important to her now than it had been ten minutes before.

"Well, what about Zizes?" she asked.


	4. Chapter 4

At first, Santana couldn't understand Rachel's sudden change of heart over letting Zizes join the band. After her audition, Rachel had all but written the girl off as imposing and rude. But everything clicked when Santana saw the blonde waitress slide her phone number to Rachel with a wink as they were leaving the diner.

"Well-played, half pint," Santana said, nudging Rachel with her elbow as they headed for the subway.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Rachel said coyly, tucking the slip of paper into her pocket. On the ride home, she continued to pull the note back out and look at it every few minutes, the grin on her face spreading gradually until she was beaming widely.

"What?" she asked defensively when she realized Santana was staring at her, her dark eyes narrowed in concentration.

"It's sort of cute how worked up you are over scoring some hash-slinger's digits, that's all," Santana said, raising her eyebrows and cocking her head to the side.

"Hmph!" Rachel responded, pursing her lips and stuffing the number back into her pocket.

As it turned out, Zizes was probably the best choice for the band. She was a skilled drummer, and her complete lack of interest in Rachel, Santana, and really the band itself, kept the usual dramas from erupting. She would never be able to replace Tina, who had become more like family to Rachel and Santana than just a band mate, but given the alternatives, Zizes was a good match for them. The three girls managed to get a set list together for Sam's Labor Day party in record time, and before any of them knew it, they were having celebratory drinks at Stix.

Zizes promptly ditched them upon arriving at the bar, not that Rachel or Santana minded it. They both just shrugged, watching her push her way through the crowd, then took their seats at the bar and started in.

"I should really pissed with you, you know," Santana said hours later, smoothly downing a shot of tequila.

"Why is that?" Rachel asked with a bit of a giggle, aglow from her third rum punch of the night.

"Because the only reason you're even into this gig is because you're trying to deflower some dishwasher."

Rachel let out a full laugh then. "I love how her job gets more degrading every time you talk about her."

Santana just huffed and rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "Fucking waitress."

"Oh, come on, Santana. Don't be jealous," Rachel teased, playfully running a hand up Santana's arm. "You had your chance."

"That's disgusting," Santana growled, swatting Rachel's tiny hand away. "Not to mention, beside the point."

"So what is the point then, huh?" Rachel asked with feigning innocence and taking another sip of her drink.

"Forget it, Berry," Santana said with a shrug before gesturing to the bartender for another round. Rachel folded her hands in her lap and pouted.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, don't do that! You know I hate when you do that!" Santana shouted at her, exasperated.

"Don't be mad at me, San," Rachel said sincerely, her eyes fixed on the floor.

Santana winced at the sound of the rarely-used nickname, then sighed. "I'm not. That's the thing. I should be fucking furious with you, but I'm not. I actually hope you and the waitress get it on every which way after the show. Believe me, I know you could benefit from a good, hard-,"

"Please try and contain yourself," Rachel interrupted, smirking, a deep blush rising to the surface of her cheeks.

Santana's voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Just...don't quit the band yet, ok?"

Rachel smiled, "I won't. I wouldn't do that to you. You know that."

Santana just shrugged. "Oh, and Berry?"

"Hm?"

"Do it at her place, alright?"

Rachel smiled again, clinking her glass against Santana's. "Deal."

After one more round, they decided it was time to go.

"Where's Zizes?" Rachel asked, scanning the crowd from her seat at the bar.

"Who cares?" Santana replied. "Let's just go. I'm sure she can take care of herself."

"Santana!" Rachel exclaimed. "It's important that we try and foster a healthy relationship with Ms. Zizes if we want retain her drumming services into the foreseeable future!"

"Well, it looks like _Ms. Zizes_ has things under control," Santana said, finally spotting the girl at a booth near the back. From what they could tell as they approached her, it appeared their new drummer was engaged in an arm-wrestling match against none other than Artie Abrams, their long-time nemesis. A few other bar patrons were standing around, watching with rapt interest.

"What's going on?" Rachel asked with concern.

"Shit. Don't distract her, Berry. I wanna see this," Santana said, placing a hand on Rachel's arm to quiet her.

They watched as Artie struggled to keep his composure as beads of sweat dripped down either side of his face. "Just a moment more, and I'll have it," he wheezed, trying desperately to sound confident and upbeat. "Just needed to get my bearings here."

With that, Zizes chuckled and slammed his hand down onto the table with ease. Artie just stared at his crumpled mess of a palm as it lay on the table between them like a wounded animal.

"So, do we have a deal?" the girl asked flatly, folding her arms across her chest.

"Yeah," Artie responded quietly, nodding his head.

"What was the bet?" Santana asked, noticing that no money had exchanged hands.

The drummer looked up at her smugly. "We play here Friday after Labor Day and take the full cover. He gets nothing."

Rachel turned to Santana, her eyebrows raised in a combination of shock, horror, and anticipation. For her part, Santana smiled broadly, clapping Zizes on the back and hooting, "Way to go, chica!"

Two days later, Rachel summoned up her courage and retrieved the slip of paper the waitress had given her from the little star-shaped box on her dresser. She ran her fingertips delicately over the numbers a few times, smiling to herself as she admired the confident lines and loops of the blonde's handwriting.

"Quinn." That was her name. Rachel said it out loud to herself a couple of times, trying to get used to the shape of the word in her mouth, wondering if this now unfamiliar name would one day fall from her lips with ease.

After a long drink of water and a few deep breaths to steady her nerves, Rachel picked up her phone and dialed the number. It took three rings for the other girl to answer.

"Hello?" Quinn said. It sounded as if she had just finished laughing at something.

"Yes, hello. This is Rachel Berry. I don't know if you remember me-,"

"Of course I remember you, Rachel," Quinn husked. Rachel lusted after that voice, that tone that sounded as if Quinn somehow already knew all her secrets.

Rachel swallowed hard before continuing. "Of course. Well...you mentioned you might be interested in seeing the band I'm in sometime? Anyway, I don't know if you're free, but my roommate and I are playing at this party over the Labor Day weekend. Sort of an end of summer thing...," she trailed off.

"Roommate, huh?" Quinn probed.

"Hm?" Rachel questioned, not understanding at first what Quinn was getting at. After a second, it dawned on her, and she nervously launched into a frantic explanation. "Oh! No! It's not like that. We're just regular roommates. I mean she's...and I'm...we're just friends! She sleeps on the couch! So...,"

Rachel was rewarded for her efforts with the delicious, honeyed sound of Quinn's laughter. "I'd love to hear you sing, Rachel," she said at last. "But are you sure it's alright for me to come to this party?"

"Sure," Rachel said, blushing feverishly. "The host is a friend of mine...sort of. I'll make sure you get in."

After giving Quinn the details of the party, Rachel floundered. The two girls sat in silence for few moments. If Quinn felt as nervous and uncomfortable as Rachel did, she didn't let on. Finally, Rachel inhaled deeply, preparing herself to end the call. But before she could say anything, Quinn took the lead.

"I guess I'll see you soon, then?"

"Mhmm," Rachel replied, dreamily.

"I'm looking forward to it."

"So am I."

"I guess I should go."

"Ok."

"Bye, Rachel."

"Bye, Quinn." Rachel stayed on the line until she heard the click of the call ending, then threw herself face down onto her bed, and squealed her excitement into the pillows.


End file.
